


Two Apostates, a Seeker, and a Deshyr Are Walking Through the Woods

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: Guinevere Lavellan: This Shit is Weird [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-16 18:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Lavellan is ill at ease among so many non-elves, but the Inquisition has some interesting characters.





	1. The Seeker is the Only One Who Exercises

**Author's Note:**

> Just some ramblings of Solas and Lavellan's early relationship--I have like 40 pages of stuff for her it felt like some of it should be posted. I have edited _none_ of this.  
See more about Gwen on her [tumblr tag.](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/tagged/guinevere%20lavellan)

“Your clan, where are they from?” Cassandra asked one day as they hiked up a hill.

“The Free Marches, mostly,” Lavellan answered. “We spent some time in Orlais, but only up north. And when the war started, we stuck to the Free Marches.”

“Ever make it as far as Kirkwall?” Varric asked.

“We did,” Lavellan said, and seemed to choose her words cautiously. “It was not a place to which I would like to return.”

“I thought the Dalish eschewed city settlements,” Solas said.

“My clan is not as uptight about interacting with humans,” Lavellan explained. “We went to Kirkwall to trade. Well, we camped outside the city, and the keeper sent me and a few others inside to see if we might have better luck trading in the city center.”

“I’m kind of impressed they just let you in,” Varric said honestly. “Most elves don’t have that kind of luck.”

“Oh, they made us stay in the alienage the whole time,” Lavellan said, her look of concern deepening. “It was…” Her pause stretched on and on as she struggled to put to words the pervading and crippling sense of horror and despair brought on by Kirkwall’s elven alienage.

“…yeah, it’s…not the nicest part of the city,” Varric acknowledged. The Herald gripped her staff—which she was using as a walking stick for the time being—and looked off over the hills.

“When we were walking through, to find a place to set up and sell, I heard an elf arguing with some of the city guard. He said his husband had been murdered walking home from the mines after work. The guards wouldn’t even take on the case. Said they didn’t have time to look into a dead knife-ear, who was probably killed by another knife-ear. And when they were walking away, one of them _laughed_.” There were no fitting words in the world to follow up that story, but everyone spent a few moments trying anyway. At last, Lavellan said, “I know the humans don’t like us. But sometimes I forget how bad it can be.”

“That did come back to bite them in the end,” Varric said. “Nothing to throw a city on its ear like a mess of new converts to the Qun.”

“It’s despicable that they were driven to such lengths,” Solas said in disgust. “That they were willing to make such a choice.”

“Well, the city hadn’t exactly done much to win their confidence,” Varric said. “I guess the Arishok seemed like a better shot.”

“The People bend their knee too easily,” Solas scoffed.

“From what I saw, they didn’t have a lot of choices,” Lavellan said.

“There is _always_ a choice! And they chose something no better than slavery.”

“Guess they figured slavery with a Qunari force behind you is better than not-slavery with the city guard turning a blind eye,” Varric said.

“Why did your keeper send you to the Conclave?” Cassandra asked, forcefully pushing her way into the conversation before it could continue its downward spiral. The sudden turn took everyone a moment to adjust to.

“I’ve mentioned it,” Lavellan said, recalling at least one instance she had explained it to Cassandra and the other counselors. “To determine if there were any threats to our clan, or elves as a whole.” As her clan frequently interacted with humans, unlike more isolated Dalish, it was paramount to know if general human opinion might be taking a turn for the worse.

“No, I meant why _you, _specifically.”

“Oh! I was—I _am_—her first,” Lavellan said. “She didn’t want to send anyone else.” Keeper Deshanna had placed great trust in her, and acting without her guidance made Guinevere feel blind at times—but she cleaved to the lessons the keeper had taught her, and did her best to act with rationality and fairness.

She let out a gusty sigh. Even living amongst the Dalish had not prepared her for the level of physical exertion demanded by life with the Inquisition. Nor had she ever been truly trained as a battlemage—that was something she was getting a bit of help with, courtesy of Cullen and Solas. Sister Nightingale had bandied about the idea of having someone train her, since she had wound up being a high-ranking agent of the Inquisition.

“First of your clan?” Varric said. “And here you had us thinking you had no business in leadership!” He paused, then added, “You don’t practice blood magic by any chance, do you? Not looking to restore any dangerous elven artifacts?” Lavellan gave a huff that might have been a laugh if she was less winded. Only Cassandra steamed up the mountain with no apparent difficulty, leaving the rest of them puffing along in her wake.

“No, no blood magic,” she said. “No binding spirits.” Conversation fell by the wayside until they reached the peak of the hill, and Cassandra allowed them a moment of rest.

“So when it’s all over, you’ll go back to being first?” Varric asked, stretching his legs out as they sat.

“Yes, I will,” she said. “What else_ could_ I do? What will you do?”

“Have a damn drink and a long nap,” he answered promptly. Lavellan nodded wearily with a small smile.

“Alright, maybe a nap, _then_ resuming my duties as first,” she agreed.

***

“Are you Dalish?” Lavellan asked as they set up camp, while Blackwall and Cassandra scouted the area for potential threats. He didn’t sound Dalish, but the world was big.

“No.” Solas squatted in front of the fire put, building the wood up so he could spark it.

“Which alienage, then?” The idea of Solas in an alienage seemed wrong, like caging something wild. Not that anyone _belonged_ in such a place--but she could not imagine Solas there for long.

“None. I am neither Dalish nor from an alienage,” he said, rising to his feet when the fire had caught. Lavellan paused in clearing rocks from the area around it, so they could lay out their bedrolls. In answer to her staring, he said, somewhat impatiently, “I am from a village to the north. Its name is not important. But it was too small to have an alienage.”

“Oh. Well that’s nice. Why did you leave?”

“There was little there to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic,” he said. “Fade-walking helped me explore other areas, but regrettably, one cannot sleep forever. It was time to move on.”

Perhaps it was the result of the keeper’s training—instructing her to care for all those whom she directed—but she liked getting to know the Inquisition members: their pasts, their cultures, their interests. Some seemed taken aback, or even wary of her questions, but it was hard, looking at Lavellan, to believe she was a threat. Only the staff on her back reminded people she had any ability to cause damage.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“No.” Gnawing her lower lip, she picked up the fish trap they had constructed a few days earlier, and stepped into the stream by the campsite to set it up.

“Walking in the Fade,” she commented, sensing the “home and family” branch of conversation wasn’t going to get her far. “That seems a remarkable gift. I’ve never met anyone else who did that.”

“Most people do not think outside the narrow view presented to them of the world,” Solas replied. “That includes the Fade. They think of it only as a place full of demons and danger.”

“But you don’t?” With her pants rolled up to her knees, she bent over to arrange the trap to try to secure them fresh breakfast.

“No! There is much to be learned, to be heard, in the Fade,” he said. “It is a wealth of knowledge, and there is nothing unnatural about it. It is a part of this world—only the Veil separates us. The grass on one side of a wall is no less part of the earth than that on the other side.”

“What have you seen there?” The curiosity was too much to bear—Gwen loved a good story, and she sensed at that moment, that Solas had a wealth of them. This, at last, seemed to relax him somewhat. And she was not wrong—when Blackwall and Cassandra returned, he was still talking, and Lavellan had stopped moving to lean against a boulder and listen.

“Didn’t realize we were missing out on story time,” Blackwall remarked.

“Solas was just telling me about a battle he saw in the Fade,” Lavellan explained. “It’s fascinating! You should write it down, I’m sure the historians will love to hear it!” Solas shrugged.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “The Fade is built of memories. It is hard to discern any one truth there.”

“Oh.” The crushing disappointment on her face was hard to miss. Blackwall stared a moment.

“You alright?”

“I was just—it would be nice, to be able to look back at the past like that.” She rubbed her thumb over her chin, fingering her vallaslin. “To know more.”

“The Dalish don’t have historians, do they?” Cassandra asked, starting to shrug off the heavier pieces of her armor for the night.

“We have the keepers,” Guinevere said. “They help us remember our history. But…much has been forgotten. Much is unclear.”

“Most is forgotten,” Solas said. “What the Dalish remember now are paltry fragments of what the Elvhen were.” Guinevere’s gaze settled on the stream flowing by.

“We’ve done our best,” she said quietly.

“Sometimes, that’s all you can do,” Blackwall said, sitting heavily before the fire. Solas’ expression suggested he disagreed, and any easiness Lavellan had achieved with him during their discussion of his Fade journeys had evanesced. She sighed, and joined Blackwall at the fire. They needed to eat, and rest, for the quest continued in the morning.

***

“You never call me Gwen,” she remarked, taking a seat on a nearby tree stump, sweat beading at her hairline. Solas looked at her with something so mild it hardly even qualified as surprise.

“That’s not your name,” he said simply. He took a drink from the hollow gourd beside him, and then added, “Do you wish me to call you Gwen?”

“No,” she said, smiling faintly. “I just thought it was funny. I think you’re the only one who always uses my whole name. It’s just…one of your oddities.”

“Oddities?” He turned to face her fully, thin brows raised.

“Yes,” she said, her smile shifting as she tried to determine if she had offended him. “You know. You’re just…different. It’s good, though,” she added hastily. “It makes you interesting.”

“Interesting?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well…you’re certainly not like anyone else I’ve met, even here in the Inquisition.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Defensiveness twisted a thin wire through his words.

“No! I’ve gotten so used to you all now—you, and Varric, and Cassandra, especially…I’ve really come to see you as friends. I like you just as you are.”

“I am glad to hear it.” For a moment, she just smiled, then realized she had waited too long to say something, and glanced away in embarrassment. “I suppose you are not what I expected either.” Now it was Lavellan’s turn to look surprised.

“What do you mean by _that_?” she asked.

“Most elves are wholly unconcerned with anything that does not directly involve them,” he explained. “Yet here you are, a powerful member of a Chantry organization.”

“According to Leliana and Chancellor Roderick, the Chantry wants nothing to do with us,” Lavellan said. “They’ve denounced us as heretical.”

“But the Seeker established this new Inquisition,” Solas said. “And it is steeped in Chantry history and tradition, whatever current clerics think of it.” Guinevere got up and began to stretch. Tired as she was, they were not yet done for the day, and with Solas so generous as to train with her, she couldn’t balk at the work required. “You worship the elven gods, do you not?”

“I do,” she said. “But I don’t disbelieve in the Maker and Andraste. In a world as varied and complex as our own, I don’t see why the Maker and Elgar’nan cannot both exist, and tell their stories true.” Solas was silent a moment, looking Lavellan over. She finished stretching and leaned against her staff.

“Do you believe you were chosen by Andraste?” he asked.

“I think it’s possible,” she said slowly. “Why she should choose me, I couldn’t say.”

“Perhaps she means to remind mankind of its broken promises to the elves,” he theorized. “How better than to choose as her Herald a Dalish elf?” Lavellan shrugged, looking off through the thin, snowy copse of trees.

“Maybe. Or maybe she simply reached out her hand and just happened to touch me.”

“You think it mere coincidence that you are now one of the most influential people in Thedas?” Lavellan hesitated before responding, uncertainty and anxiety pulling at her expression.

“No…but it’s possible.”

“Anything is possible,” Solas said.

“Exactly,” Lavellan replied. “It _feels_ significant—but what do we _know_?”

“Very little,” Solas acknowledged after a pause.

“Indeed,” Lavellan muttered, shaking her head. When she looked up again, it was with a small smile. “I do know I need to run these defensive drills again, if you’re up to it.” Nodding, Solas stood, and raised his staff.

“Are you ready?”


	2. One of the Apostates Has a Castle

“Where is the Herald?” Haven residents and Inquisition recruits rushed past as Solas waved them on. Cullen gave him a grim look and Solas glanced past him, looking for—he wasn’t sure.

“The Herald has elected to stay behind,” he said.

“To buy us time,” Solas said softly. Cullen nodded. “Then we must hurry, and make the most of it.”

As they fled through the tunnels, the roar of the avalanche reached them. The whole mountain seemed to tremble, and the entire group held their breath, but the tunnel stayed strong.

“Then she’s gone.” Scout Harding’s soft voice broke through the silence that followed the terrible cacophony. Deadly quiet reigned over what remained of the Inquisition. Abruptly, Leliana raised her left hand. Cassandra did as well, and all together, they gave the Herald of Andraste the only farewell they could manage. The moment passed, and they hurried on through the darkness.

The camp they established high in the Frostback Mountains would serve to regroup, but it was already becoming apparent that the Inquisition was struggling without its figurehead. Without Guinevere.

What an odd creature she was, he thought. A person with the chance to grab great power—to claim to speak for Andraste herself, who resisted it, and wanted legitimization from the people. An elf who maintained the old traditions but saw a future for their people. A first willing to put her clan aside to care for all Thedas. A leader who tried to help everyone she could—how fitting she should die confronting a threat to allow the rest to escape.

What would the Inquisition become without her? She had been integral to the legitimacy of the movement. They could get by on her martyrdom, but from the way Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine were arguing, he wasn’t sure they would survive without her voice. Still, he would see this through, as there was no better option available for defeating Corypheus, for the time being.

He tried then to turn his mind to the future—to the retrieval of the orb, and the slaying of this jumped-up Tevinter problem. But the Inquisitor haunted his thoughts relentlessly. It was hard to say her death was a waste, when she had allowed so many others to live with her sacrifice. A loss—it was certainly a loss, for everyone. The world needed more leaders like her, especially in times like these. And what a symbol, a leader, she could have been for the Dalish! Yes, her clan was certainly the lesser for her death. Perhaps all of Ferelden and Orlais were. Would someone contact Clan Lavellan? Let the know what had become of their first? He supposed the would eventually hear of the death of the Herald, so they might decide it was not necessary to personally contact the clan.

He sat alone, ruminating on these things, and wondered, just for a heartbeat, if it was not rather childish to refuse to acknowledge his own personal sense of loss over Guinevere’s death.

Overnight, the Inquisition remained camped. People were sent to scavenge firewood, and what meager rations had been grabbed on the way out were passed around. Some were injured—it would be difficult to travel. There were children from Haven’s village. And there were dying. They couldn’t stay here, so exposed, but the main council were reluctant to push people to move right away. He would need to approach them soon about Skyhold, or things might begin to fall apart.

Their indecision turned out to be a great blessing.

Morning broke on a dismayed camp in disarray. Memories of Corypheus and the archdemon—had it been?—turned slowly but endlessly in Solas’ mind. With what power did the Inquisition hope to defeat him? With the Herald gone, they lacked even the power to seal rifts—for now. At least, he thought, she had sealed the Breach before dying. Being killed.

The voice of Mother Giselle startled him.

“It must be cold here, away from everyone else,” she said, offering him a steaming cup of what looked and smelled like nothing more than plain water. It was warm, though.

“The cold is not foremost on my mind,” he said at last, looking out over the camp.

“The loss of the Herald has shaken us all,” Mother Giselle said, following his gaze. The air of unease about her, approaching him, began to dissipate, speaking of Guinevere. “She was a good woman.”

“Her loss is a great tragedy,” he said. “Not that humans would understand what it means.” Mother Giselle looked at him, taken aback by his harsh tone. “Forgive me,” he said, chagrined by his own outburst. “The Herald was…a personal friend of mine.” How odd to say—a friend. A physical one.

“I understand,” Mother Giselle said gently. “I saw you with her often at Haven, and I know you traveled much together.” She took Solas’ following silence as an inability to speak, and inclined her head towards him. “If you are in need, I will be with the wounded.”

Solas stayed around the edges of camp, observing. He had no desire to venture closer and listen to everyone’s fears and worries, and most were too busy to think of looking for him. Only once did Leliana call him fireside with her and the others.

“We need to know about the rifts,” she said. “Without the Herald, we have no way to close them.”

“We were _hoping,_” Josephine said, “that with your knowledge of the Fade, you would have an idea.”

“I am afraid I must disappoint then,” he replied. “I do not know what could be used in place of the Herald’s mark. If I had had more time to study it, perhaps I could make more progress, but as it stands, I cannot.” Clearly, they were not satisfied with this, but it was the only answer he was giving. “Forgive me.” With that, he took his leave and left them to a new round of debate.

In the twilight of that afternoon, as Solas mulled over telling Cassandra and the others about Corypheus’ orb, someone saw her. He had been ignoring various small commotions in the camp for nearly a day, but this one began to sound different.

“Is that her?” someone cried.

“Thank the Maker!”

Solas stood and shielded his eyes to see a lone, dark figure staggering over the rise behind which lay the ruins of Haven. Even as he watched, the figure stumbled and collapsed, but people were already rushing towards her. His fingers tightened around his staff, and his posture was rigid, staring. Could the Herald truly have returned to them?

***

When Guinevere woke, everything felt numb, but the ferocious, primal drive to survive was gone. There was a bedroll under her, and she was no longer exhausted beyond all thought and reason. She could feel the ghost of the thick snow crusts scraping against her legs, and her head throbbed from her fall. Her arm felt wrenched, and she recalled how Corypheus had lifted her off her feet as if she were some child’s rag doll.

When she opened her eyes, Mother Giselle was there to greet her. Cullen and the others bickered by the fire about next steps, but even as Guinevere felt impatient with them, she took pleasure in hearing their voices, even arguing. In fact, the sound of Josephine shouting Cassandra down made a joy flood through her that she couldn’t explain, and her throat constricted tightly.

The hours she had spent dragging herself through snow and ice had left her without much energy to join in the hymn, but it soothed her to hear, and she sent up her own small prayer to Mythal to keep them safe, so they might see that new dawn. When it was done, she caught sight of Solas, lingering at the edges of the crowd. He motioned her over with a jerk of his head, and she slipped away from the others to join him.

When he explained to her about the orb, they shared a look, and he knew she read into it the danger present for the elves if it became common knowledge. Too many humans looked for any reason to disparage and put down the people. He knew she would keep that information secret. The rest he had to tell her—about Skyhold—was all good news, and much more easily delivered.

But when the business was done, they lapsed into awkward silence.

“I am…pleased you yet live,” he said at last. A weary smile pulled at Guinevere’s lips.

“And I will be pleased if you have no more occasion to say that to me! But I fear you will.” She sighed in resignation and shook her head. “Still. I am glad you still live also,” she said, and gave a smile that faltered quickly. “We lost so many…” It was almost too much to think about at once, contemplating each individual who had perished in the attack, or would soon. But the idea of losing Solas put a particularly keen pain in her breast.

“And we saved a great many,” Solas countered quietly. “_You_ saved us all.” Guinevere’s amber eyes widened. “Fate or chance or gods made you remarkable by giving you the anchor,” he said, pointing to her hand. “_You_ have made yourself remarkable at Haven. Nor for what you are, or what you have, but for what you_ did._”

“You make me sound like a hero.”

“To them? You are.” Guinevere was silenced, and looked out to where Solas had told her the Inquisition’s bastion lay.

“Then I have a lot to live up to,” she said soberly.

***

“How are you settling in?” Guinevere was not surprised Vivienne was turning Skyhold’s main balcony into her little lounge. It suited her as well as any space in the remote stone fortress could.

“As if I were preparing for a siege,” Vivienne said, looking up from her book and swinging her legs off the couch.

“You’ve chosen a nice spot,” Guinevere observed, moving past her to look out over the balcony. “You can see almost the entire courtyard from here.”

“And the main hall,” Vivienne added, looking towards the Inquisition’s throne. “As you can imagine, there are benefits to knowing who goes where. For instance, I see you frequent the library quite often.” There was a pause, where Guinevere realized Vivienne saw her going to Solas’ study, and assumed she was continuing up the stairs to the library, and then met Vivienne’s eyes and realized she probably was _not_ so misled. Feeling her face start to heat up, she turned her attention back to the balcony. “It is always preferable to be led by someone knowledgeable.”

“I’m glad you stayed,” Guinevere said. “I know Haven was...traumatic.”

“My dear, I knew there would be danger when I volunteered to join you. Perhaps I did not expect Darkspawn magisters and archdemons, but I hardly anticipated a stroll through the garden.” Guinevere smiled, reassured as always by Vivienne’s unflappable confidence. She had made a powerful first impression, but Guinevere found she had always lived up to their first meeting at her party.

“Leliana has helped me recruit a few mages who might help me to train better,” she said. “To fight. Do you know anything about Commander Helaine? She’s from Orlais as well.”

“I can’t say I know her personally, but I can reassure you that if you mean to learn the way of the knight-enchanter, you will not find your time wasted. As a style, it is both noble and practical—most suited to someone of your position.” 

“I just hope it will be useful,” Guinevere sighed, sinking down into one of Vivienne’s chairs. “There’s so much riding on us now…on me.”

“And I cannot think of anyone more well-suited,” Vivienne said. If it was a lie, it was a kind one, at least.

“I appreciate your support, Vivienne,” Guinevere said with a small smile. “But I’m certain _you_ could handle my position just as well.” Vivienne laughed.

“We shall never have the chance to find out. Now, I have some reading here on the history and technique of the knight-enchanter, if you would like to study up.”

“I would love that, thank you,” she said with a smile, leaning back in the seat.

“Can I ask you a question, darling?”

“Of course!”

“How are you holding up?” Vivienne frowned at her, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It seems you’ve not had time to breathe since we met, and I worry you will be run into the ground. I hope you are making time for yourself, getting enough rest.”

“Varric plans to take a nap when this is all over,” Guinevere said. “I suppose that’s when I’ll sleep too.” She laughed, and rubbed her eyes. “I’m alright, Vivienne. It’s sweet of you to ask. I try to sleep as much as I can. I like sitting here, talking with you.” She allowed her tiredness to show through the smile she gave to Vivienne. “If I can say so, I consider you a friend. It helps a great deal to have someone to speak with on personal matters.”

“That’s good,” Vivienne gave one of those calculated smiles. “I think of you as a friend as well, Inquisitor. You and your forces are doing something important here, and I am pleased to be a part of it.” Guinevere’s smile lost the weariness, and she reached her hand out. Vivienne clasped it, and the two women took a beat to relish their affection for each other.

Corypheus was a terrible evil, but Guinevere was proud of all Thedas to see what wonderful people had come out of the woodwork to help fight for their world. It made her proud to be a part of everything, and determined to win.

***

Guinevere found Solas lingering in a window-well near the garden, coolly observing the other party-goers. To her shock, he claimed to be thoroughly enjoying himself—being wholly ignored by the nobles had its advantages. If Josephine would not have keeled over at the mere thought, Guinevere felt he would have worn his “apostate hobo” look right through Halamshiral’s gates. He also brushed off any apologies for how he had been introduced to the court. When she had finished fretting over his experience—until he wondered why she had brought him at all—her shoulders slumped in dejection.

“What about you?” he asked. “Enjoying yourself at all?”

“Oh, it’s very nice, just…” She frowned deeply. “…I thought they would be different.”

“The nobles?”

“The humans. I don’t know why. A woman in the courtyard, she—she called me a rabbit.” The look in her eyes made old anger flare in Solas’ breast, and his fingers curled silently into a fist at his waist.

“Did she know you are the Inquisitor?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “How many other elves do you see here dressed as we are? Clearly I am not a servant! Not that she should be using such language with them either!” Her brow furrowed intensely. “I thought…if they saw what I had done, as Inquisitor, it would be different. Among the commoners, I thought: well, they’ve all grown up on lies and rumors about us, and know nothing of Arlathan. With the nobles, I thought: they are educated, but they’ve never known an elf. If they knew one—not a servant or slave—they would learn. They would be…”

“Better?” Solas replied, a bitter tightness in his mouth.

“Yes,” Guinevere replied softly after a consternated pause. Solas only looked at her, and she felt chastened and childish for having expected understanding. “Your worth is more than they can comprehend,” Solas said. “Accept their insults as declarations of their ignorance.”

“It shouldn’t be this way,” she said.

“But it is,” he said. “For now.” Guinevere gave a heavy sigh and looked around at the crowd.

“Not forever,” she vowed quietly. With a lighter expression she turned back to Solas. “Care to dance?” she asked, forcing back sudden shyness to offer her hand.

“And shock the court with the sight of the Inquisitor dancing with an elven apostate? We had better not. Perhaps another time.”

Guinevere sighed and pushed her disappointment away—he was right, of course. Josephine had done her best to educate Guinevere on court etiquette and intrigued, but there were so many things to know and remember—it would never have occurred to Guinevere that the mere act of walking onto the dance floor with Solas would constitute a scandal—never mind that she was also an elven apostate. Of course, he might just be turning her down, in which case she was grateful he had supplied such a relevant excuse. If he did not mean to pursue the kiss, he did not mean to humiliate her with outright rejection.

She got her chance later. After her seemingly miraculous rescue of Empress Celene—and the Inquisitor-driven reconciliation with Ambassador (now Marquise) Briala—everyone wanted to dance with her. Guinevere was fond of dancing, but her knowledge of steps appropriate for an Orlesian court ball were painfully limited, and too many of the people who wanted to dance also wanted to trade cryptic conversation. She danced with men and women of all ages, and a number of people who were neither. She turned a round with Dorian, who twirled her about with great passion during an upbeat number, and another with Vivienne, who waltzed her about with grace and poise, and once dragged Josephine onto the floor just to be sure of what was being said for five minutes. Josephine could also give her a few extra pointers about her dancing and said nothing about having her feet occasionally tread on.

“If only they would play a reel,” Guinevere said, almost pleading. “I’d do fine!”

“Just stay calm,” Josephine said. “You’re doing fine now. You’ve just saved the empress form assassination and defeated the one responsible. That does count for something. They’ll have forgotten it a week from now, but for tonight. If you like, Yvette will give you a dance as well. I’m sure she will fill you in on the latest cheap gossip in Val Royeaux.”

“I would actually appreciate that,” Guinevere said. “And your sister seems perfectly charming.”

“Charming and _lazy_!” Josephine exclaimed, turning Guinevere in a circle. “That girl _never_ applies herself to her studies…”

When at last Guinevere could bear it no more—her face flushed and her head spinning from the heat in the ball room, her feet begging for a break, her voice going hoarse from all the talking—she stole out to an empty balcony for a moment of cool, sweet air. She was promptly waylaid by the empress’ arcane advisor Morrigan, whom Leliana had warned her about trusting. Naturally she had news and discussion, but seemed to realize that for all her politeness, Guinevere wished a moment alone, and departed when their conversation had run its course.

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Guinevere leaned against the stone railing, and looked out over the picturesque gardens and grounds of Halamshiral, wondering how she had ended up here. What must Clan Lavellan think? How she wished she could talk to them of everything that had happened! As hard as it was being apart from her family, she had grown to see the Inquisition in much the same light, which gave her comfort.

“I thought I would find you here.” For a moment, she wanted to collapse against the railing, before recognizing that soft-spoken voice. She pushed off the railing and turned to face Solas.

“I had to get away, just for a moment,” she said.

“I hope I am not bothering you.”

“No! I meant from—all that.” She gestured broadly to the ballroom. “I’m…not used to it.”

“Ah, yes. You are suddenly quite popular, are you not?” Guinevere nodded.

“I think I’ve learned quite a bit about Orlesian dance since the beginning of the night though,” she said.

“I would agree—I don’t think I’ve seen you off the dance floor since the empress’ announcement.” Behind Guinevere the silvery moon shone over Halamshiral, and the golden light escaping the palace threw its beams at Solas’ back. She studied his expression, his features, become so familiar to her. She thought of his voice, when he had shouted for her to beware a hostile templar at her back—and the way he had not touched her wound after the fight, but fretted his hands over without making contact.

“Quick! Before the band starts to play again—dance with me!” He held his hand out, and Guinevere hesitated just a moment, recalling his earlier refusal, before she put her hand in his, a smile spreading across her face.

“I’d love to,” she said. He cupped her hand and placed his other on her waist as she moved closer, and in the silence between songs they turned sweeping circles on the balcony. There was an eagerness to his request that reminded her how he had pulled her back after she first kissed him. Their subtlety belied these little moments, when she was sure Solas’ heart beat as hers did.

The clock was ticking on their dance, sure to be brief. She could almost hear the band shuffling about to begin a new piece. Tearing her eyes from the glass doors, she looked up at Solas, and the moment she felt his hand move, she closed some more of the distance between them. Her nervous tongue bade her speak, but she silenced it—words were superfluous. His granite eyes watched her—something she had wondered about long before that ball. She lifted her chin, wondering if he would kiss her again, as he had done in the Fade—if she wanted him to.

But the instruments inside started up, and they brought the dance to a close, stepping apart. He bowed over her hand, but his lips kept a hair’s breadth of distance from her gloved fingers.

“Lady Inquisitor,” he said. There was a teasing glimmer in his eyes when he lifted his head and Guinevere fumbled for a similar title.

“Lord Solas,” she settled on, a little smile tugging at her lips.

“I believe you have adoring fans to return to.”

“No matter. I will see you later tonight,” she said, moving past him, the smile still playing about her lips.

“I look forward to it.” Guinevere’s eyebrows rose at his response, but she made no reply, only briefly glanced back before being absorbed back into the palace.

It was after midnight when the Inquisition was able to load back into their carriage sand ride off to the governor’s mansion, where they were staying until their departure the next day.

The poor Inquisitor looked half-asleep already. Vivienne was pretending not to be nodding off, her eyes fixed determinedly out the blackened window. Even Solas looked tired, and had been staring at the same spot beside Vivienne’s head for a least ten minutes. Guinevere’s eyes slid shut, and when the carriage jostled over a large cobblestone her head tipped to rest on Vivienne’s shoulder. Vivienne put a hand on Guinevere’s knee and squeezed gently.

“You did marvelously tonight, darling.” Guinevere’s eyes peeked open.

“Not like you and Josephine,” she said. “You two—and Leliana—were amazing.” She lifted her head. “You were all wonderful. I’m so thankful you were with me.” She looked around at them. “This was a battle as much as anything else we’ve done, and you all held the line beautifully. And _you¸ _Josephine, you were incredible.” She smiled, never mind the shadows under her eyes. They were there more often than not. “We couldn’t have done this without you. I feel you know everything about every notable person in Orlais!”

“Me!” Josephine exclaimed. “It was you three and Dorian who exposed and defeated Grand Duchess Florianne! You’ve saved Orlais from terrible chaos.”

“To say nothing of how you reconciled Briala and Celene,” Vivienne said to Guinevere. “I wouldn’t have thought that possible. We’ll see if it lasts.”

“It was a team effort,” Guinevere insisted. “Defeating Florianne wouldn’t have mattered if we had bowed to the wrong person!” she said with a teasing smile, looking to Josephine. She reached a hand out and briefly squeezed Josephine’s fingers. “You saved me. And you’re a wonderful dancer.” Josephine flushed delicately and smiled.

“You are not bad yourself, Inquisitor,” Solas opined. “Considering the ambassador taught you everything just a few weeks ago.”

“Oh—you think?” Pleased for the darkness of the carriage, Guinevere looked to where Solas sat catty-cornered from her. She fancied she could almost see the golden light of the palace shining behind him as when he stood on the balcony.

“I do.” Guinevere felt the world dissolving into that place where it was just then, and she tore her gaze away, though Solas did not.

“Then I must thank Ambassador Montilyet for that as well.” Vivienne cast a shrewd look at Guinevere, but said nothing.

At the mansion, Dorian and Cullen stumbled out of the second carriage like they had both just woken up, and without much fanfare, everyone departed for bed. Having saved Empress Celene from assassination, elevated an elf to a lordship, and taken out the guilty parties, the Inquisition slept deeply that night. For Guinevere, that sleep came only after some time lying awake, awash in starlight, remembering the look on Solas’ face as he danced with her, and the coolness of his hands. In light of all else that had happened, when the endless caravan of thoughts about Celene, and Briala, and Orlais, and Corypheus, and Gaspard had finally worn itself out, it was nice to close her eyes on such fanciful thoughts.

***

Guinevere had never set foot in the Emerald Graves before. She knew of it, and her clan had spent time in Orlais, but had only ever skirted the Graves. From the moment she stepped into the lush forest, alive with fauna and canopied with towering trees, she was awed. The Dalish murals, trees, and ruins fascinated her.

“I always found this place interesting,” she confessed, running her fingers over a painting of a great bear. “But I never got to see what was here before.” She looked back at Solas. “Isn’t it marvelous?” She didn’t wait for his answer before she moved on to look at the next painting. Where he could, Solas offered information, which made Sera scoff, though Guinevere was delighted. Barefoot, she pranced through the thick grass, splashed through shallow streams, and volunteered to climb trees and rocks to scout ahead. The whole of the Emerald Graves was a wonder to her, as if she had found a home she never knew. Once she had told Josephine her favorite place for the clan to travel was through the forest, and this was a sublime specimen. Better still, her ancestors had lived here, and everywhere about her was evidence of them.

The old elven temple awed her all over again.

“This is amazing,” she breathed again, touching the crumbling pillars.

“The Emerald Knights,” Solas remarked. She gawked at the statues, and looked over at Solas.

“Isn’t it incredible?” She smiled, and let the Iron Bull take point so she could hang back with Solas. “Does it make you think of Arlathan?” she asked. “That’s what it makes me think of. Can you imagine! Us, our people, here? Living? Building this?” She heaved a wonderous sigh, looking all around.

“I could imagine _you_ in Arlathan,” he said, reaching out to brush a tuft of loose hair from her face. It had been several days since she had last let down and re-done her hair, and it was becoming disheveled. Guinevere smiled again, casting her gaze away.

“Oh, I would have liked to have seen it,” she sighed. “I wonder what you would see.” She looked at Solas. “If you Fade-walked here.” She had that look, where he knew her curiosity was running rampant, and she was ravenous for stories. He considered if they might have time to dream here. If it took them long enough to get to the heart of this temple—which was overrun with Venatori—they might camp here.

And they did, setting up in the courtyard, after beating their way through Venatori and demons aplenty to get to the scroll at the heart of the temple. Dorian offered to take first watch, but Guinevere did not approach him about dreaming before they smoothed out their bedrolls and laid down. This puzzled him slightly, but just as he was drifting off, he felt something shake his shoulder. Guinevere crouched beside him, and gestured out of camp, pressing an index finger to her lips. He followed her silently past Dorian’s sentinel back, into a vast room of the ruins, with an open roof, and grass where floor had once been.

“I thought you wanted to dream,” he said.

“I do.” The starlight dimly illuminated her face, shining light against her dark skin. She wandered about the room, turning back to look at him with a playful smile, coaxing him closer. But when he started after her, she moved, weaving just out of reach, and her smile grew, until at last he lunged forward and caught her arm, and then her waist. “Oh! You’ve got me.” For once, her expression was light, and the softness in her eyes weakened his knees.

She leaned up to kiss him, placing her hands against his chest. When he thought she would draw back, she only pressed closer. One of her hands grasped at the wolf’s jawbone around his neck, her fingers creeping up its leather string. Without their armor, he could feel the heat of her body through his tunic. She had said he had caught her, but she was the one who would not let him go now—and he was perfectly content to be tamed.

“Here? In the ruins?” he asked when they separated.

“There’s energy here,” she breathed. “I know you feel it too. I thought—wanted—unless you think it’s…not appropriate…” He could tell from her voice she was blushing at his raised brows. As she trailed off, he pulled her close again, a smirk spreading across his face. He leaned in to kiss her, and understood why she had not wanted Dorian to see them leave.

Her mouth was soft and real, and she tasted like passion, and elven tears, and a world that was entirely foreign to him. Her hands were gentle and tender, her thighs warm and secure, and behind her head, the stars shone, and her eyes joined the constellations.

“_Ma vhenan,_” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him again, again, again, a—“You are a treasure beyond all Arlathan.” Frost crept over the grass around him, and afterwards, he embraced her as if he could pull her from this world, steal her someplace else, where they could walk Elvhen remains forever. She cradled his head against her chest, her fingers rubbing the tip of his ear, traveling down to his neck and shoulder.

“Will you take me Fade-walking with you, Solas?”

“Of course, _lethalen_,” he replied, sliding an arm around her waist. They closed their eyes, and he reached out to bring her to him. It was time to _really_ explore this place.

When they woke, and shook off the ghosts and marvels of the past, the sky was not so dark as it had been, the stars not so bright. Hastily, Guinevere dressed, but Solas just lay and watched her. She gave him a pointed look as she began back to camp, and he followed afterwards. Their absence had _not_ gone unnoticed—Blackwall, who was on watch then, turned to smirk at them trying to sneak back to their bedrolls. Guinevere ducked her head in mortification, but Solas held Blackwall’s look until he laid down to close his eyes. He did not Fade-walk, but Guinevere danced through his dreams all the same.


	3. Behold: Dysfunction

Now? _Now_ he had decided their relationship was a “distraction”? What did he mean “I can’t”? Why would he not explain?

He left her there, standing in the misty grove, her face bare, trying to shake off the whiplash. It left her so baffled and disoriented she had to sit down for a bit to think it through before gathering herself to return to Skyhold. First, she vowed to press Solas for answers—he owed her that much, at least.

But that would need to be later—they were too raw for it now. Guinevere burned from the memory of crying her love for him—something she had never said aloud before—only for him to back away, hands held up as if to ward off a dangerous spirit. No, she couldn’t talk to him now.

The first one she went to was Vivienne. She had to talk to_ someone_, and the First Enchanter always had an ear for her, especially since their joint effort to save Bastien. Guinevere’s chest still ached for Vivienne’s loss, and how calmly she had borne it.

As soon as she climbed the steps to Vivienne’s lounge, her fellow knight-enchanter knew something was wrong.

“My dear, whatever has you looking so melancholic? Not more bad news, I hope!”

“Nothing…serious,” Guinevere replied, trying to steady her voice. Vivienne ushered her into a seat. “I…” Guinevere worked her hands over her knees, trying to force her throat to cooperate and make words. “Solas and I went out and…he says he can no longer distract me from my duty.”

“Then he’s left you?” Vivienne asked in a low voice. Guinevere nodded wordlessly. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry.” Vivienne sat beside her on the couch, and took both her hand tightly. “I know how young heartbreak can be. Is this the first time?”

“Yes,” Guinevere said, looking away. She was abominably childish, wasn’t she, with tears in her eyes over a lover, when the end of the world was nigh upon them? “This was…so much more serious, than anything before. I…” She swallowed hard.

“You loved him,” Vivienne said softly. “I won’t pretend to understand that, but I do feel your pain. Are you sure this is for good? Or has our hermit mage just gotten cold feet?”

“I…don’t know. He seemed serious, but it was so sudden. There was no warning…”

“Well, if this is really about the danger were all in, is it not possible he might be amenable to reconciliation after this nasty business with the Tevene is done?”

“I don’t know,” Guinevere repeated. “He said ‘in another life’.” Vivienne frowned, and then embraced Guinevere gently. The young elf rested her chin on Vivienne’s shoulder, and breathed deeply, trembling.

“You deserve better,” Vivienne said firmly. “And you will have it. For now, we will get you through this. Remember your real goals—personal matters can be resolved once you save the world.” She was right, and Guinevere knew it. Ironically, Solas would have given her far _less_ distraction by waiting until after Corypehus’ defeat to break up with her, but he had not, and so she would just have to deal with her hurt. She could not afford to break down now—and she still wanted answers.

“What happened to your tattoos?” Varric was the one to point it out, later on, making Vivienne do a double-take. Cassandra turned to look as well, and Guinevere looked away.

“I…got rid of the vallaslin,” she said. Her face looed naked in the mirror without the marks of the mother of halla, that she had worn since her sixteenth birthday. “They did not mean what I thought they did.”

“Oh?” Cassandra fixed her with an interested look, but did not press.

“It was time to move on,” Guinevere said. “Look to the future, not the past.”

“Hey, I’m all for giving tradition the middle finger,” Varric said. Guinevere tried to smile, but it came off more like a grimace. “Not that it’s not hard sometimes,” he added hastily.

Dorian, of all people, understood.

“It is difficult to see your understanding of your country, your people—may be wrong,” he said. Guinevere said heavily in the armchair situation in Dorian’s alcove in the library. “Do you wish to talk about it?” Dorian was not a good one for companionable silences—quiet in general seemed to make him uncomfortable—but he was excellent to talk to.

“The more I learn of the elves of old, the more I see the Dalish have gotten wrong,” she said. “It makes us look sad. The poor lost rabbits, wandering the globe in poverty and ignorance, clinging desperately to a past and a culture we don’t even understand. Solas said…they were slave marks. The vallaslin.” She lifted her head to look at Dorian. “So how great were we, really? If all those beautiful monuments and ruins were built with elven slaves, how were we any different than Tevinter?” Frustration passed over her face and she rubbed her eyes with one hand, dragging her fingers over her bare chin.

“I never heard anything about elven slaves, but we’ve already seen the limits of Tevinter’s education system.” Dorian paused, but Guinevere said nothing to fill it. “I know what it’s like. Having a homeland capable of both great and terrible things,” he said. “You can still love things about it while recognizing its shortcomings. That’s true patriotism, isn’t it? Holding your people to be the best they can be?”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “It’s just…history and past glory are all the Dalish have. I can’t lie to them, but how can I take that away? Tell them our one bedrock is cracked and rotted from the inside?”

“Gently,” Dorian advised. “Improvement starts with acknowledging the problem.”

“When did you become such a font of wisdom?” Guinevere asked, a little smile twitching on her lips.

“Always have been, thank you for noticing.” Guinevere let out a quiet huff and stood.

“Have I mentioned lately how glad I am you decided to stay?”

“I don’t recall, but I’m always ready to be properly adored,” he said. Knowing Dorian’s distaste for all things sappy and emotional, Guinevere left it there.

“Maybe when this is all over, I’ll have time to try to learn about the Elvhen,” she said. “Find out the truth.”

When it came to Solas, though, she had no such chance.

***

Although Solas had promised to explain the need for their separation after the fight with Corypheus was done, he disappeared just after the last fight. Leliana’s spies found no trace of him, and they both knew that if Solas did not wish to be found, they would not find him.

For a time, she held out hope that he would return, re-appearing in her life as unprompted as the first time. Vivienne thought she should move on, and said as much when they said goodbye—but Vivienne had never approved much of Solas, and always considered him beneath Guinevere, particularly after her training as a knight-enchanter. With the danger past, Vivienne was returning to Val Royeaux, and taking with her a small portion of Guinevere’s heart.

Eventually, Guinevere forced herself to admit she was unlikely to ever see Solas again. She would have to be content with her victory over Corypheus, and the task of re-building what he and the Red Templars had destroyed. But accepting the reality of Solas’ vanishing set her on the long quest of trying to determine what had been real and what had been smoke. That was a process she expected would never been entirely finished.

But life went on. The Inquisition shrank, as soldiers and recruits departed to re-discover old homes, or build new ones. Guinevere bid Dorian a teary goodbye, much to his consternation, though he promised to write regularly, and largely followed through. He stopped by Skyhold when he had the chance. Iron Bull and the Chargers were in and out, completing both missions for the Inquisition and other mercenary jobs. Varric returned to Kirkwall with Hawke, where Merrill was waiting for them. Blackwall was gone to join the Grey Wardens for real, this time. One day, Guinevere looked around the tavern and realized most of her friends were gone. Even Maryden, the bard, had moved off in search of other work.

“Someday this place will be empty again,” Guinevere said, turning to Cassandra, who set down her pint. An inexplicable, bone-deep grief swept over her imagining the empty halls and decaying tapestries, as the fortress slowly returned to what it had been when they first found it.

“I suppose. If we disband the Inquisition.”

“Shouldn’t we? It’s been more than a year. We’ll be done with our work someday.”

“You would let it go?” Cassandra asked in surprise. “The whole thing?” Guinevere shrugged uncomfortably.

“I only became Inquisitor by chance,” she said, ignoring Cassandra’s scoff of disagreement. “I—I still have a duty to my clan. And once we’ve finished cleaning up after Corypheus, I’m not sure what else we would do.”

“I feel there will always be a use for strong organizations dedicated to peace,” Cassandra said. Guinevere shifted in her seat, not looking at Cassandra’s face.

“Maybe. But I can’t stay forever.” Cassandra paused.

“You’re right. You’ve done more than your duty,” she acknowledged. “All the same, we would be glad to have you, if you wished to stay longer.” Guinevere shook her head, curling her left hand on the table. She had thought the anchor would go away when she sealed the Breach—and following that, when Corypheus was defeated. But it was still there, glowing and sparking occasionally, and Guinevere tried not to be troubled by that.

“I need to go home,” she said. “I’m sure it’s already changed more than I can recognize…” Or maybe that was just her. Once she had thought of bringing Solas with her to Wycome, to meet her clan. Now it was just another thought that mocked her.

“I understand,” Cassandra said. “It will be something to discuss with Josephine and Leliana, when the time comes.” Guinevere nodded and sighed.

The problem with shutting down the Inquisition was that there were a thousand small tasks: nothing large enough to warrant the _creation_ of something like the Inquisition, but enough to demand its attention. The other problem was that it was so massive, even depleted as it was, and there were many who wanted it to continue—members who were proud of their work there, or who hoped to eventually bring the Inquisition to their home to help, or who simply had nowhere else to go when it was done. Furthermore, Orlais had started making noise to the effect that they wanted the Inquisition to remain as a permanent institution.

When Guinevere arrived in Val Royeaux eight months later, she was ready to resign. If they wanted to continue the Inquisition, far be it from her to refuse them. But she would not stay. For her, the Inquisition was done, and it was time to try rebuilding her own life.

There was a sense of relief in having made the decision, though she knew Josephine and the others would be disappointed. More than that, though, was her hope for seeing her old friends again at the Exalted Council. Blackwall had mentioned the importance of comrades who had seen the same fights you had, and Guinevere understood that now. There was a bond she shared with the Inquisition that she wasn’t sure could ever be matched. Once Mother Giselle released her to go find Le—_Divine Victoria_—she took leave to hunt around the Winter Palace grounds for her compatriots.

Cassandra, she caught on one of the garden’s balconies, looking about as uncomfortable and uncertain as Guinevere had ever seen her. It was utterly baffling, until she blurted out something about marriage, making Guinevere’s eyes fly open wide.

“Marriage! I’m not getting married! Are _you_ getting married?” In her shock, she came back with that witty bit of conversation. Cassandra looked stricken, and doubly so when she realized Guinevere had probably _not_ moved on from Solas, then. But she was clearly embarrassed, so Guinevere tried to give her a way out. “I mean, I’ve thought about getting married. In the Dalish fashion. But not today.” Her hedging did nothing to dissuade Cassandra from strangling Varric with his own crossbow. Guinevere wondered who else he had told that story—hopefully no one.

She was supposed to be meeting with Divine Victoria and the Orlesian ambassador, but there was time for that.

“Vivienne!” She came across Vivienne conversing outside the palace spa—which was apparently a thing—and hurried over to kiss her cheeks.

“Guinevere, darling! How wonderful to see you, and just on time!”

“Time? For what?” _Spa day_, apparently. Guinevere wasn’t going to fight that—soaking in a hot salt bath and having lotion rubbed into her feet sounded like a _dream._

“How have you been? I know you were cruelly disappointed when Solas left,” Vivienne said as they lounged about on the plush couches of the royal spa after their treatment.

“I’m…still not over what happened, honestly,” Guinevere replied, reassured by how steady her voice was. “I’ve accepted he’s not coming back, but…it still hurts.” She sighed and slouched further down on the couch. There wasn’t much she could say about it that she hadn’t written to Vivienne already.

“It takes time, Guinevere dear. Be kind to yourself, but don’t let this man ruin you.”

“I won’t. And what about you? I know it’s been hard since Bastien passed.”

“Work keeps me occupied,” Vivienne said.

“You’re as indominable as ever, Vivienne,” Guinevere responded, her concern hidden by the cheeses over her eyes. “Still, I can’t help but—”

“Darling, it’s _spa day—_don’t fret so much! There will be plenty of time for that at the Exalted Council. I expect you’re in for an earful from Orlais and Ferelden both.”

Guinevere was considering another dip in the pool, but Vivienne announced she had to be off, and Guinevere decided she’d better go too. She would come back for another soak later—Vivienne was right, she needed it. Rolling her shoulders and feeling remarkably more relaxed—even the anchor seemed calmed—she took her leave.

By the time she got around to speaking with Leliana—Divine Victoria—she was barely able to hide her dejection. In all the time she had spent at the Winter Palace so far, she had seen neither hide nor hair of Dorian! Surely he would have written her if he wasn’t coming? She dragged her feet getting to the garden balcony where Victoria had told her to find the Tevinter ambassador, but her ears perked up when she heard a familiar voice—could it--?

“Dorian!” She had to fight from launching herself into his arms when she saw him. A beaming smile spread from ear to pointed ear, though Dorian did not open his arms for an embrace. She rushed forward and clasped his hands firmly. “Oh Dorian! I was beginning to think you weren’t here!”

“You’re looking at the new Tevinter ambassador,” he said with a tepid smile.

“It’s so good to see you again.” Guinevere said genuinely, looking him over. “I feel all my friends are back together at last!”

“Everyone?”

“Oh yes, everyone,” she confirmed with a smile. “The Iron Bull is at the tavern with Cole and the Chargers.” Dorian made no remark on that tidbit.

“And…?” Guinevere’s face fell and she glanced away, releasing her hold on his hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. How is everyone?”

“Vivienne took me to the palace spa yesterday,” she said.

“And they didn’t tell the dirty knife-ear to get out?”

“No!” She flashed a look both smug and defiant. “It was wonderful. You should go, I’m sure you’d appreciate it. Vivienne might even go with you—I’m sure she’s not opposed to another spa day.”

“Certainly not. And I might need it.” A grimace passed over Dorian’s face. “I do apologize, I’m meant to be speaking to the Ferelden ambassador—perhaps we can catch up later?” Trying not to look deflated, Guinevere nodded, and reminded herself that she also had a task.

“Alright. I’ll hold you to that,” she joked feebly, wandering off to find Divine Victoria.

When they had finished speaking of the up and coming issues with Ferelden and Orlais, Guinevere felt obliged to confide in Leliana that she intended to dissolve the Inquisition.

“What?” Clearly Cassandra had relayed nothing to Leliana of their earlier conversation—perhaps she had been hoping Guinevere would change her mind. “Just like that? Let it all go? Everything we built? Everything we worked for, bled for?”

“Our job is finished,” Guinevere said. “You didn’t expect it to go on forever, did you? Corypheus is gone, and Thedas is back on its feet. We’ve done our job.”

“But there is still so much we can do!” Leliana argued. “With the support of Orlais, we can continue offering support to struggling communities, helping Thedas rebuild, strengthening our organization to respond to crises! We have so many connections, and a great deal of political power not easily won—and you want to throw that all away?”

“Ferelden is already uneasy with our presence,” Guinevere said. “That will not vanish. And I have a duty to my clan. It’s time I returned home. If it is truly your desire, maintain the Inquisition. But it will have to be done without me.” Leliana’s hard expression didn’t change.

“You know how much we lose without you,” she said. “You _are_ the Inquisition. Many will leave, if you are no longer leading them.”

“I’m sorry, Leliana. I appreciate the work you did for the Inquisition, but you are Divine now. You have other duties. As do I.”

“I suppose I have no choice but to respect your decision,” the Divine said. “I hope you change your mind though. Think about the good the Inquisition could do.” Guinevere simply held Leliana’s gaze, then inclined her head respectfully, and excused herself. It was uncomfortable that Leliana might find her decision dismissive of the incredible work she had put into shaping and protecting the Inquisition, but Guinevere was sure in her decision.

The Council would begin the next day; she might as well spend the hours before dark with her friends. She didn’t want to think it could be the last time she saw some of them for a long while, especially when the Inquisition had closed. She went back down to the courtyard and sat on the steps, watching Cullen play with his new dog, and talking about his family.

“They’ll be so pleased to see you,” she said with a cheery smile, resting her chin in her hands. “What fun! I love reunions; everyone is so happy.” There was a tightness in her chest, not entirely unpleasant, as she thought of Wycome, and the new home she might make there. She could see Keeper Deshanna’s eyes crinkling as she smiled, and hear her low, raspy voice calling her _dal’en._ Warmth spread out from her chest and she closed her eyes, the smile still on her face.

“Alright, everyone gather ‘round!” The shouting came from Varric, of course. Guinevere opened her eyes and rose to her feet, heading over to the grouping of couches as Varric spoke. Iron Bull was sleeping on the warm stone ground, and Dorian was slouched in a chair with a sullen look. Vivienne leaned over the back of another, waving Guinevere over when she saw her approaching.

This was how Guinevere found out Dorian was going home to Tevinter.

“You’re leaving?” Without thinking, she interrupted Varric’s speech, fixing Dorian with a slack-jawed look. In all their letters, he had never mentioned it. He looked at the fountain, shoulders tense.

“Uh-oh…let’s, uh…regroup this elsewhere,” Varric decided. He ambled off, Vivienne swaying stately beside him, and collected Cullen on the way to a more private location for his speech. Dorian and Guinevere were left staring at each other, with Iron Bull snoring on the ground. Dorian moved away from the noise, and Guinevere followed.

“You’re leaving?” she said again, softer, fixing him with that wounded gazelle gaze he couldn’t bear. “Why didn’t you tell me?” It certainly went a long way to explain his lackluster greeting earlier!

“It is time for me to take my father’s place in the Magisterium,” he said, his voice wavering between bitterness and grief, as it tended to do when he spoke of his father.

“Then he’s gone?”

“Indeed he is.”

“Oh, Dorian.” The pain in her voice was nothing shy of empathetic. “I know things were complicated between you…but all the same, I’m sorry.”

“Not sure I can say the world is worse off without him,” Dorian said, looking at the fountain again. “But…he was once a man I looked up to above anyone else. Letting that go is difficult.” Guinevere moved forward, and put a hand on his arm, and then embraced him. Dorian stiffened, and then relaxed. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, Gwen. I just…didn’t know how to say it.”

“We’re here for you,” she said quietly. “All of us. I know your relationship with your family is…what it is, but we’re your friends, Dorian, and we’re here for you. We love you.”

“Andraste’s knickers, I am going to miss you,” Dorian sighed, wrapping his arms around her. “Is there anyone else in the world who is actually sorry to see me go?”

“Of course! We all will,” Guinevere insisted. “So…this is forever, then?”

“Until I die, and the cadet branches of House Pavus commence all-out war for who shall take our seat next,” Dorian confirmed. Guinevere quivered, and despite the inopportune locale, began weeping.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, trying to steady her voice, and not let him hear the sniffle. Judging by the way he did not yet let go of her, she was not successful. She wanted to say something touching and profound, but all she managed was, “Oh, Dorian!”

“Hush now, you always knew I would go home eventually. Besides, you don’t think I mean to just leave you, do I?” He drew back and rummaged around in his pouch before withdrawing a pink-white crystal on a leather thong. He handed it to her. “I’ve got one too,” he said. “And we can use these to talk, all the way from Tevinter.” A surprised look spread over her tearstained face, and she wiped her cheeks as she looked at it.

“Wow—this is—thank you, Dorian.” She smiled and looked up at him.

“Don’t thank me, this is purely selfish,” he said. “What would I do without a quick way to converse with my best and only friend? I’ll need _someone_ to complain to about the rest of my homeland!” The tender smile on Guinevere’s face as she looked over the crystal didn’t change, and something similar crept across Dorian’s face. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?” He gripped her thin shoulder. “I know you’ll have plenty of do here, so it’s no use pining over me.” Her smile widened.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, tucking the crystal into her pocket.


End file.
